


Caught In Between

by lady_wordsmith



Series: Memories (Bucky/Reader) [16]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Books, Breaking and Entering, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Past Relationship(s), Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_wordsmith/pseuds/lady_wordsmith
Summary: Bucky moves in. He very quickly breaks one of your rules (well, no, Steve did, but Bucky was a party to it, so it counts). Between that, his nightmares, and the fact the only thing separating the two of you is now a wall, he fears he's in over his head.





	Caught In Between

_“Can I tell you something?”_

_“You always could, before.”_

_“It might change everything.”_

_“That never stopped you then, either.”_

_“... Don't, please. You might not want to even **look** at me ever again once I tell you.”_

* * *

 

“So he’s moving in, what, the day after tomorrow? And his friends are helping him?”

“Yes, Annie. I assume you want to come over tomorrow?” You’re rolling your eyes, but it’s good-natured. You know Annie worries about you.

“It _would_ be rather unwise to leave you there alone with so many strange men.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Someone’s got to worry about you, Punch. Your father’s a checked out nutjob and your cousins are fair-weather all-take-no-give people at best.”

“So _you_ have to step up to the plate?”

“Well, Kai does, but since he and I are a package deal, I get to pick up the slack.”

“My heroes.” You mutter drily, and Annie laughs at your sarcasm.

“You _love_ having someone taking care of you, Punch, don’t lie. Hey, mind if I bring Em?”

“No. Your sister’s even more of an annoying prat than you are.” You groan.

“C’mon, let me bring her. Then we can play Cards Against Humanity while scoping out your roommate and his friends. Kai said the dude was built like a tank, I bet his friends are, too. Just a hunch.” Annie tells you, and you’re rolling your eyes again.

“You’re married, Annie.” You remind her, and Annie laughs again.

“Yeah, married. Not dead. You think his friends are-“

“Dangerous territory, Annie. Stick with your nerd.”

Annie giggles down the phone line. “You’re right, Punch. Speaking of which, did you choose this guy so he could punch your V ca-“

“I hate you all.” You interrupt her, blushing furiously.

You’re not going to deny James was attractive the all-of-one time that you saw him, but you knew that James was the Winter Soldier. You weren’t going to confront him on that, at least not yet, but that knowledge made him a no-go as far as anything beyond roommates was concerned. If you were even interested in that, anyway, which you weren’t. No one had sparked any kind of interest in years, not since Giamo, and you were content to keep it that way. You were too busy with your classes and meetings with advisors and your doctoral research to care about romance or sex. Your project was ambitious, and you were focused completely on it.

Not to mention you still felt that any sort of romantic entanglement would have to pass the standard set by Giamo, and you had all but given up any kind of hope of _that_. It wasn’t just the intensity of the whirlwind romance that had set the standard, but the easy companionship, the total trust, and the feeling of belonging while maintaining the sense of independence you had long cultivated. All of these things would have to be met, and you were convinced that no ordinary man was up to the task.

“Look, Punch, I’ll behave. I’ll even make Em behave herself. Please?”

“No, Annie. I’m not even sure I’ll be there. I can’t really cancel that meeting with my dissertation committee.”

“Oh, nice. A bunch of strangers in your apartment, alone. I hope they steal all your stuff.”

“I keep my room locked, so my books and jewelry are safe. If they want the rest of it, they’re welcome to it.”

“I hope you’ve kept up on your renter’s insurance, Punch. That’s all I’m saying.”

* * *

Bucky didn’t have much to bring to the apartment, but he had a bed and boxes upon boxes of books, and those were all he really needed. He could have brought all of that himself, but he didn’t complain when Steve and Sam joined him. He knew Steve wanted to get a feel for you, see you in the flesh and learn about you from something other than the small snippets that Bucky could give. Who knew why Wilson wanted to help, but Bucky wouldn’t complain.

He had the keys to get in the building and the apartment, of course, but he still buzzed you on the intercom to let you know he was there.

“Thanks, James!” you had called over the intercom, sounding strangely enthusiastic and chipper. He saw Steve and Sam exchange looks, but didn’t say anything, heading to the moving truck they had rented to grab a container of books.

When he had reached the apartment, you opened the door for him before apologizing, saying that you were on your way out.

“Meeting with the head of my dissertation committee, something about my research again probably.” You say with an eyeroll. “Fucking academia.”

Bucky nods, unsure of what to say.

“So, just… uh… You have the run of the place, I guess. Just stay out of my room.” You tell him.

Then, with a wave, you’re gone. Bucky finds himself blinking rapidly as he stares at the space you had just occupied, then lets out a huff of breath. It’s going to be hard, he tells himself, watching you live the life you had carved out for yourself since he had last seen you. Watching you come and go from the space the two of you share, all while Bucky himself mourns what you don’t even know you’ve lost. He wants to chase after you, pull you close, tell you all the things he remembers even if it’s only snapshots and moments without full context. Only the thought that you’ll think he’s crazy stops him, and it’s only that; not the guy who had been in the apartment last time, not Steve’s overprotectiveness and caution, not even the thought of any outside threat. He knows they had to replace your time with him with something else, and if he came at you with all this talk… Well, Bucky knew it was a bad idea.

Even with the longing he feels, he’s also happy. Not just to be near you again (but _god_ is he glad to near you again), but he’s happy that you’re doing something with your life. It’s clear to him, even with the brief amount of time he’s spent in your presence since leaving you, that you’re healthy and happy and clearly having a good time with your life, and that in turn makes Bucky happy. At the same time, combining that with the memory loss makes him curious. If it’s a façade, if maybe gaining your memories of him back would make it all tumble. He’s not sure he wants that. He’d gladly walk away if you were truly happy and content without him, but if it was all some kind of falsehood… Bucky remembers you saying that fake happiness is no happiness at all, but he’s not sure trading a false happiness (if it is false) for the big uncertainty of life with him would be worth it. If and when he faced the public for his crimes as the Winter Soldier, people would look at the time you spent together and wonder why you hadn’t turned him in. Bucky could handle whatever they did to him, he deserved it and he knew that, but he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ let anyone blame you for what you had nothing to do with.

Bucky shakes his head and takes the container of books he has in his arms to the empty bedroom that’s now his. Steve and Sam follow with more containers, and the three of them are quiet as they bring Bucky’s bed and belongings into the room.

When most of his things had been brought in, Steve had begun taking a look around the apartment, looking through the shelves in the living room and ducking into the bathroom. Bucky knows it’s a way to learn about you since Steve had probably only caught a glimpse of you as you left, but he still feels unnerved and maybe a little territorial at Steve’s actions.

“Lots of books on brain and behavior,” Steve observes from the living room.

“She’s a psych student, Steve. I’d be more alarmed if there weren’t.” Sam calls out from Bucky’s room.

 Bucky looks up from a container of books to give Sam a grateful nod. Sam returns the nod and returns to helping Bucky unpack. The two of them quietly snipe back-and-forth over Bucky’s belongings, until Bucky hears a click and Steve mumbling something about a door being locked. At that point, he charges out of his room, knowing what Steve just tried to do.

“She said to stay out of her room.” Bucky says, grabbing Steve’s arm and yanking him backward. The door is only open a crack, not enough to see much more than maybe the color of the carpet in your room, but the sight of the open door is enough to unnerve Bucky. He hasn’t even been here more than a few hours and he’s already committed, or at least been a party to, a major fuckup. The only thing you had asked of him was to stay out of your room, and now Steve had unlocked the door and was ready to go in.

“And you’re not wondering why?” Steve asks him.

“No.” And, god, he’s lying, but he told himself that he had to at least try and respect any space you put up, even if it was only until he got a feel for things, or got you to trust him, or something that would tip the balance and necessitate his breaking of your boundaries.

“If we don’t touch anything, she wouldn’t even know.” Steve argues. “It might be necessary. It might be your only shot to do this.”

Sam is standing in the doorway of Bucky’s room, neither agreeing nor arguing against the idea. But Bucky knows he has an opinion, because hasn’t he had an opinion about everything thus far?

“Well?” Bucky says, turning his attention to Sam, who shrugs.

“I could go back down, keep a watch to see when she comes back, text or call.” Sam says. “Your choice, though.”

Bucky looks back-and-forth, between your bedroom door and the front door of the apartment.  He knows he’s already made his choice, if there even was a choice to be made anyway, but it’s saying the words. He feels conflicted about it- he knows that the choice wasn’t his entirely, and he is simply taking advantage of Steve’s own curiosity and determination to figure things out, that if he had been left to his own devices it would never have even occurred to him to unlock your door. Bucky sighs, the damage done and the decision made, and nods at Sam.

“Go before I change my mind, Wilson.” He tells him, and before he even finishes Sam’s already out the door. Bucky turns to Steve and nods, not totally able to control his disapproving glare. Steve opens the door the rest of the way.

The first thing Bucky notes is the smell of your room. He’s not certain if it’s an air freshener he can’t see or the pillar candles he spies on one of the bookcases, but your room smells heavily and almost sickeningly sweet, like honeysuckle or lilacs or some other flower, but with the undercurrent of a slight sour odor he can’t place. He steps into the room, taking note of what must be some kind of jewelry box resting on the top shelf of a bookcase beside a pillar candle. The box is shaped like one of those old-fashioned Japanese-style houses he’s seen in illustrations, and while he’s tempted to open it and rummage through it, he refrains; he’s not sure if you were ever the type to organize your jewelry a certain way, but he’s not willing to risk disturbing it despite a heavy urge to open the box.

Bucky moves to the bookcases, but instead of giving in and opening your jewelry box, he looks at the shelves and shelves of books, kneeling on the floor to access the shelves. His heart catches at the well-worn copy of _House of Leaves_ , and he finds himself touching the spine, mumbling “This is not for you,” before moving on. The titles of the books are mostly unfamiliar, but some leap out at him for reasons he can’t understand. _The Little Prince_ , _The Lover_ , _Across The River and Into the Trees_ , _Life Among the Savages_ … He recognizes one as Hemingway, but the rest are beyond him. He knows in his heart of hearts that you’ve probably read them to him, but the lack of actual knowledge of the contents of the books leaves him somewhere between melancholy and detachment, and he can probably conjure an image of the two of you in bed together, of your lips moving and you reading any of these to him as he curls around you like a cat content to listen to the flow of your words, he knows the image would be a creation of his mind and not the real memories of your words.

Looking at those books, Bucky knows he may someday remember in full, but for now, staring at the spines of these books in your bookcase, he only knows that these books may be something the two of you shared, but the gulf of loss is too big to say for certain.

Bucky stands, and looks over at Steve. His friend, strangely, hasn’t moved from the doorway, and a part of him is tempted to call Steve out, accuse him of opening the door only so Bucky can be the one to go and look, that the whole thing was never about gathering information but about making Bucky face the fragments of memories that were only whispers and suggestions. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, both of their phones buzz. Sam. Quickly, Bucky leaves your room and returns to his own, leaving Steve to relock the door.

* * *

“Were you afraid? I… I don't think I could forgive myself, leaving you alone and afraid.” Bucky asks, turning his head to face you. He was in his bed, and you were standing, pacing back-and-forth between the bookshelves and the foot of his bed.

You still your movement, and look… not in his direction, exactly. Someone looking in on the scene would think that you were looking at him, meeting his eyes, but Bucky knew you well enough to see the way your eyes settle on the wall behind his head. An old practiced trick of yours, to fake eye contact when you're uncomfortable doing so.

“Before… I was always alone. Maybe always afraid, too.” You tell him.

“I remember.” Bucky says, his voice raspy and low, a dry whisper. That night in Laredo, near the border. All your secrets laid bare.

“But I always knew what to do.” You say. Your hair is falling in front of your face, and you flip it back quickly. You smile faintly at Bucky, but he doesn't return it.

“Yeah.” Bucky licks his lips, and now he's the one avoiding your eyes. “But-”

“You had to leave. It was unavoidable.” You tell him, walking around the bed and sitting beside Bucky.

“Was it?” Bucky asks. “I don't remember it at all, that day. Or the days before. I only remember where we were.”

“If you didn't leave then, it would have been later. Eventually.” Bucky shakes his head at your words, but the verbal denial never makes it past his lips.

Your hair is falling wildly around you, obscuring your face from his view. Bucky wants to reach over and tuck your hair back but doesn't move to do so. He knows, deep in his heart, he has never been worthy of touching you, but also that he is the least worthy he has ever been, though he can't say whether it is simply because he left you or because he returned to being the Winter Soldier afterwards. He looks at his hands, red with blood. It doesn't even startle him.

“What do you remember? In general, not just then.” You ask, and this startles Bucky enough to make him look away from his hands and back to you. He can't even see your face anymore, just your hair and your legs and a hand reaching towards him that he longs to take but doesn't dare.

“Fear. My own, not yours. You were always confident, I think. Long stretches of time where I didn't know what to feel, what to think and then it was overwhelming. Then... Leaves, something about leaves and then cold and… I was happy. You made me happy.” he has never spoken the feeling out loud, and just saying it makes him smile but he still can't see you.

“And you left.”

“But I don't remember!” Bucky says, surprising himself with the way the words come out like a plaintive wail.

“Maybe for the best.” you say, and it sounds strangely cryptic to his ears. “The truth isn't always the best thing. Or the prettiest.”

“Doll?” And Bucky’s actually terrified now, fear prickling at the back of his neck and hands shaking.

“You left. And you came back. Why did you leave? Why did you come back?” Your voice is distorted, it doesn't sound like you anymore, doesn't sound like anything even human. Bucky's fear increases, skyrocketing past the limits even he thought he could feel. His shaking hand moves toward you, barely any movement at all. A flutter, a suggestion of movement.

“Why?!” A distorted scream that actually knocks Bucky over with the force of it.

He tries to speak, to call to you, but his vision is clouded by a sea of red.

* * *

Bucky’s eyes snap open, your name on the front of his tongue, the edge of his lips. He bites it back as he sits up and forces himself to breathe, a strange pattern of inhaling and holding and exhaling that he can't remember learning. Tears are pricking at the edges of his eyes, but he holds them at bay.

The dreams have gotten worse being so close to you. A wall is literally the only thing separating the two of you. It's worse than being far from you, or being uncertain where you are. He thought being close would calm him, but it just reminds him of how unfair the world is. He gets you close and you're still so far from him.

He calms himself, listening to the ambient noise of the apartment, only to startle when he hears a _click_ and sees the slight leak of light from the kitchen streaming through the cracks of his bedroom door. He smiles in spite of himself. Change the time, change the place, but there are certain things whoever took your memories from you would never change. Bucky never thought he would be so glad for your insomnia, that little detail that was still you in spite of all that changed. It was comforting, in a bizarre way.

He's tempted to join you in the kitchen, but he refrains, choosing to stay in bed. Not sleepy yet, but calmed, simply by the little detail of your insomnia. If you remembered Bucky, or even simply knew him better, he would join you in the kitchen without hesitation, but to you, he had only moved in a short time ago. It would be awkward, at least for Bucky. He’s not certain how much you would mind it, and he’s not willing to find out. Your insomnia was a topic you had been loath to discuss with him much the first time around, and you weren’t close enough, not yet, this time.

Sighing, Bucky reclines again in his bed, his eyes watching the thin beam of light coming from the bottom of his door. It’s only when he hears another _click_ and the kitchen goes dark again that he allows his eyes to close and let himself drift off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see... Anything I need to note? Oh! the line Bucky says when he touches _House of Leaves_ is from the book itself, but it also kind of fits into what's going on.
> 
>  _The Little Prince_ and _The Lover_ were used in previous parts of this story, _Across The River and Into The Trees_ is a Hemingway book, and _Life Among the Savages_ is by Shirley Jackson (and both were probably read to Bucky offscreen by the Reader since they both came out after Bucky became the Winter Soldier).
> 
>  
> 
> As I've said on my [tumblr](http://lady-wordsmith.tumblr.com), this part has a (possibly not-all-that) subtle thing that plays into the next part, which is the big reveal: the final day Bucky and Reader spent together on the run, where it's revealed why they don't remember things, why they had to separate, etc. There are still some big reveals to be made, but after the next part, I'm doing a six part story for this series that shows how living together is going, and then... well, spoilers.


End file.
